


anything

by asynchrony



Series: all my armor [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: First Time, M/M, Olympics, Oral Sex, Tender Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:08:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29393145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asynchrony/pseuds/asynchrony
Summary: Tobio is made of many things, Wakatoshi finds.for HQ jukebox round 1:shame
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Series: all my armor [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2159196
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30
Collections: Haikyuu Writer Jukebox Round One - Mitski





	anything

_untroubled as children in pictures  
by the ruin of their present perfection,  
holding softly one to the other._  
  
— craig evenson, _sun and snow_  
  
  


It's almost inevitable that when they finally make it back to their room after the semifinals, the electric thrill of triumph transmutes into something a little more personal. The moment the door closes behind them, Tobio turns to Wakatoshi.

It’s a hug like any of the dozens of others they’ve shared post-victory, but there's something sharper about him tonight. His grip on Wakatoshi’s shirt at his waist is so tight it strains the fabric; he presses his nose into the crook of Wakatoshi’s neck, a little cold and very insistent. It takes Wakatoshi a while to identify the difference as desire.

“Tobio,” he murmurs, bringing his hands up to stroke the setter’s sides. Even that punches a gasp out of him, sends him squirming like he’s unsure whether to press closer or flinch away. “Tobio. What do you need?”

Something must have gotten into him tonight, because this is not the reclusive, tentative man he knows. Tobio rolls his hips up against Wakatoshi, just once; there’s still an apology in the way he pulls away, but there’s no mistaking his meaning or arousal.

“This,” he says. Tilts his chin up, waiting.

This is new territory. Wakatoshi can see how nervous Tobio is, so he organizes his own thoughts quickly.

“I really am not sure those beds are actually made for two,” he tries. Somehow that’s the right thing to say, because the stiffness goes from Tobio’s shoulders. He turns to survey the room, too: simple nightstands, shelving, two cardboard beds. Wakatoshi steps up to his side and places a hand on the small of his back. He doesn’t startle.

“We’ve heard enough escapades every night to know that they probably hold up,” Tobio says dryly, turning to face him. “But. What did you want to do?”

It would be a lie to say Wakatoshi hasn’t thought about this. Thought about Tobio, about the secrets he keeps under his skin, good and terrible; thought about what coaxing him out of his shell might involve. What he might taste like. Pleasure stirs in his belly, slow and warm.

“I’d like to suck you,” Wakatoshi says. Tobio stills. “If you’d like.”

For a moment, Wakatoshi's afraid he's offended him, but Tobio ducks his head and comes up flushed and certain. "Yes," he says, "yes."

* * *

It takes a little experimentation and too many elbows before they settle on this: Wakatoshi on the floor, framed by Tobio's knees where he's sitting on the edge of his bed. Tobio presses his left hand to Wakatoshi's face. His eyes are fond.

"This is familiar," Tobio says. He runs his thumb across Wakatoshi's bottom lip, gently, then with more confidence on the return stroke. Wakatoshi opens for him. Watches his pupils dilate at the sight; lets him press that callused thumb past his bottom teeth onto his ready tongue. He closes his lips around it and sucks.

Tobio's eyelids flutter with his sharp inhale. Wakatoshi takes the chance to shuffle a little forward, pulling himself up on his knees so he's of a height with Tobio's collarbones. Mouths along them through the thin fabric of his shirt, soft and dry, a benediction with lips but not teeth or tongue.

Tobio's trembling just a little under him, breath fast in a way that could be fear or pleasure. "I'm fine," he says before Wakatoshi can even open his mouth. "Just." He covers Wakatoshi's hands with his own, halting their feather-light exploration of his thighs.

"Ticklish?"

Tobio shrugs, a minute movement. "Something like that. It might actually be better if I..." He lifts his hips and shucks off his tracksuit pants; Wakatoshi helps him kick them off entirely, then places his hands back on Tobio's thighs more firmly. A question.

"Yeah," Tobio breathes. He hesitates a moment, then discards his shirt as well.

"This is a little less familiar," Wakatoshi says.

Tobio huffs, half-smiling. "Come here," he says, and Wakatoshi does.

* * *

Tobio is made of many things, Wakatoshi finds. Most of them familiar: the metallic hint of deodorant; the fan of his long, dark eyelashes; his setter's hands, of course, precise and confident even now, one a scalding brand at the back of Wakatoshi's neck and the other fisted in the sheets. Others are new: the way the skin of his cheeks starts soft and becomes invisibly coarse toward his jaw. The way his abs jump under Wakatoshi's exploratory touch. The way he tastes clean and entirely human: salt, talc, faint traces of herbal liniment.

The way he sounds, or doesn't. He's quiet even here, head thrown back as Wakatoshi lingers at the small patch of dark hair just above his belly button, then begins to follow the trail down with teeth and tongue.

"All right?" He has to ask.

"More than," Tobio manages. A hoarse whisper, nearly drowned out by a raucous group passing down the hallway. His brow is furrowed in familiar concentration. "Keep going."

"Okay." Wakatoshi hums it into the hollow of his hip. Kisses Tobio there; noses at the junction of hip and thigh; when the hand in his hair tightens, mouths hot and wet over Tobio's cock through soon-sodden cotton. He spends a few minutes there, looking up through his lashes to see Tobio's eyes flutter shut, lip caught between his teeth. When he pulls away a little to nuzzle a little further between Tobio's legs, he hisses a slow exhale.

"You're quiet," Wakatoshi observes, thumbing at Tobio's waistband. Tobio lifts up obligingly, watches Wakatoshi with dark eyes as he peels his briefs off.

"I don't know how not to be," Tobio admits. "Is that a problem?"

"I don't think so," Wakatoshi says slowly. "Except that I need to know how you're feeling. If you need me to stop..."

"I'd like to say you'll know," Tobio says. The twist of his mouth is affectionate but rueful. "But I can't guarantee that. What if..." He touches Wakatoshi's right hand where it's resting on his thigh. "Tap twice, if you want to check in?"

"I can do that."

* * *

Tobio's cock is beautiful like the rest of him, Wakatoshi decides. Dark and slender, if only in relation to his bulk, with a delicate upward curve. Wakatoshi takes his time. Strokes Tobio a few times, gently, then firmly enough to watch his foreskin unfurl, smearing precome down his length. He taps twice, and Tobio glares half-heartedly.

"Your mouth isn't even full," he says, though the effect is spoiled a little by the way he pitches up into a moan when Wakatoshi thumbs at his frenulum before smoothing a condom on.

Wakatoshi grins, a flicker of a thing, then swallows him down. Something about the buzz of victory has him almost unbearably present, conscious of every excruciating detail: the silken weight of Tobio on his tongue, skin smelling like salt and musk and something undefinably him. The smooth drag of his own bottom lip across latex as he moves. The fist he keeps loosely curled around the base of Tobio's cock, stroking in sync, and how quickly he gets sloppy enough that his hand is almost dripping with spit and desire. The way an accidental scrape of his bottom teeth makes Tobio curse and jump, in a way that speaks of pleasure more than pain.

He flattens his tongue a little, hollows his cheeks, and taps Tobio's thigh twice: the way Tobio babbles, over and over, _good, so fucking good, it feels so, so good._

When he pops off for a moment to stretch his jaw, Tobio's a gorgeous wreck. The flush of his ears has swallowed most of his chest, blotchy across his abdomen; his eyes are wet and dark and almost unseeing. They focus back on Wakatoshi soon enough, then the string of drool connecting his lips to his cock as he disengages. The collar of Wakatoshi's shirt is damp. He swipes his left hand through the mess at his chin and brings it back up to cup Tobio's balls.

Distantly, Bokuto's yell echoes down the corridor, Hinata's laugh. "Look at you," Tobio whispers, hips jerking forward in tiny, abortive twitches. "They're right outside. They don't know—"

"They'll never know," Wakatoshi says, and this time he takes all of him in. Tobio's a difficult length, just enough that he sets off his gag reflex more than anyone else might, but there's something deliciously vulgar about it. Wakatoshi lets his eyes water and his head swim a little, settles into a space where three things exist: his wet, willing throat. His left hand, working small circles slick and obscene against Tobio's taint. His right, anchored to Tobio's thigh, tapping reflexively at intervals he doesn't have the awareness to track, _feels good, Wakatoshi, god, you're so good, you feel so good._

It could be a minute or a hundred before Tobio scrabbles at his shoulders for a moment in warning, then curls over him like a marionette with all its strings pulled at once. His thighs quake under Wakatoshi's palms. He gasps his wordless way through his orgasm for a small eternity, and when he emerges, he's still mouthing _so, so good._

* * *

Tobio lets himself be cosseted just a little as Wakatoshi cleans him up and disposes of the condom, but because he is Tobio, he insists on returning the favor. Something about the way he moves still seems a little more unmoored than he should be, so Wakatoshi scoots out of his reach, back against the headboard.

"No," he says. Watching Tobio's face drop, he amends that. "Next time," he says, like a promise.

"Fine," Tobio says, and the readiness with which he concedes confirms that Wakatoshi's made the right call. But Tobio hardens his jaw a little, looks pointedly at Wakatoshi's crotch then meets his eyes with a recalcitrant kind of defiance. "Let me look at you, then."

It's nothing he hasn't said before, but then again, they've never been the people they are now. Hearts full of victory and something sweeter still.

"I'll make it good for you, in that case."

"Don't. Just... how you normally do it. If that's okay?"

Normally Wakatoshi doesn't have a beautiful, stubborn man in his bed, bare skin still glowing with sweat and pleasure, but he does his best. Shuts his eyes, for a moment; palms himself slowly. It doesn't take much to get him worked up, not with the near-bruised rawness of his lips and throat throbbing at the edges of his consciousness. He's wet enough that when he pulls himself out, he doesn't need anything else to slick his hand.

When he opens his eyes, Tobio's perched at the foot of the bed watching him with such intent that Wakatoshi's almost worried he'll topple. He chuckles. "You really are a little crow, even now."

Tobio blinks, then offers him a sweet, shy smile. "You're beautiful," he says, and isn't that unfair.

"You're one to talk." Wakatoshi twists his hand, that flick of the wrist that sends sparks up his spine, and watches Tobio's blue-black eyes track the movement. "The way you looked. The way you look now, really." Being studied with the same clever gaze Tobio has on the court is driving him wild, it turns out. "From the moment I saw you play for the first time," Wakatoshi confesses. "I knew you were special."

"And now?" When he looks up, Tobio's shuffled closer, almost close enough to touch. There's uncertainty in the question. "You don't... want anything else?"

"I don't need anything else," Wakatoshi gasps, static gathering in the harshness of his too-quick pace, and knows Tobio will catch the double-answer. "I don't need anything but you."

He bucks up against his fist, once, twice, and loses himself.

When he floats his eyes open on the other side of euphoria, he knows Tobio will be right there, and that's enough.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic can be retweeted [here](https://twitter.com/emdashing/status/1368058550778429441).


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